


The Gift That Keeps on Giving

by shouldgowork



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Origin Story, Pre-Canon, Pre-Slash, mostly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-18 02:34:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21670417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shouldgowork/pseuds/shouldgowork
Summary: Looking for seasoned adventurers or financial backers for their quest, Dwalin instead crosses path with three strange, neurotic, and possibly mad brothers.
Relationships: Dori & Dwalin (Tolkien), Dwalin & Nori (Tolkien), Dwalin/Ori (Tolkien)
Kudos: 24





	The Gift That Keeps on Giving

Dwalin drew himself up to his full height, filling the splintering doorway as best he could, trying to make himself look as imposing as possible. 

‘And this is it, then?’ He said, tone even gruffer than normal, gesturing with disdain at the cold, damp room he and the landlord were standing in. He could instantly see that the other dwarf wasn’t having any of it. 

‘Two rooms, ground floor, low rent. As advertised. Don’t like it? Then piss off.’ He said shrugging his fur-lined shoulders at Dwalin who sighed and readied himself for what was to come; he’d rather have fought a dozen goblins with his hands tied behind his back. He tried to rearrange his face into a smile that sent the other dwarf back a good step or two. 

‘Look, you must know who I am, or rather, who I’m renting for.’ This had to work, or he’d never get over the shame of it. ‘Surely you can…. do something.’ He trailed off rather, inwardly cursing that he’d gone ahead to this wretched town and not Balin, who would have had clever words, would have said more with less. Who also wouldn’t have been the slightest bit embarrassed by asking for help. 

‘I’m not a charity.’ The landlord said sharply, fist clenching and making the gems of his ring pop slightly out against the flesh of his fingers. ‘You’re money’s worth no more than any other folk. You’ll pay what  _ they  _ do.’ 

The shame of it curled in Dwalin’s stomach, not just his failure but genuine self-loathing. The landlord wasn’t exactly wrong. But he had to restrain himself from shaking him by the collar until he understood the importance of their mission. The entire city of Erebor lay out there, ripe to be taken again. What were a few gold pieces in rent compared to that? He’d be able to buy an entire new room made of solid silver if he joined them on their quest, or even just funded it. 

If  _ anyone  _ joined them. So far it looked like the five of them, Dwalin and Balin, Thorin, Fili and Kili, were going to be marching through the front gate alone, given Dwalin did not share Thorin’s optimism about the strange old wizard they’d met in Bree some weeks before. He didn’t look like he’d be able to do much more than provide a bit more corpse ash for the dragon to blow away. 

Perhaps it wasn’t hard to understand why they’d struggled so much to find other recruits, let alone financial backers. A dwarf willing to risk his life was far easier to find than one willing to risk his capital. 

‘Well?’ The landlord said irritably. ‘What’s it to be? Because I’ve got a waiting list long as my beard to look at this room.’ 

Dwalin merely raised an eyebrow at this but, whether or not anyone else wanted the rooms, no other  _ rooms _ wanted  _ him _ . 

He sighed, fishing a depressingly heavy heap of coins out of his bag and pressed them hard into the outstretched hand before him. 

‘So two weeks, yeah?’ The landlord said, staring greedily at his palm.

‘Two weeks. Mahal forbid we’ll need longer in this town.’ He muttered, although he wasn’t much heard over the sound of the coins being bitten. 

The room had seemed terrible before; when he was standing alone in it, it seemed somehow worse. This one had just a table and two nearly-broken stools; aside from that just an old tub and a bucket, a hook on the wall, and a broken fiddle left inexplicably in the corner of the room. He poked his head into the next; two rickety beds and a couple more bedrolls on the floor. In the cupboards stood a pitiful collection of household items. They’d be sharing mugs, cutlery, scrubbing brushes, the lot until they moved on. Cheaper than getting rooms in the inn, as Balin had said, but the cost seemed harsh enough right now. 

He swore loudly to himself, sitting down at the pitiful table and taking a lump of old cheese out of his bag. It was only now that he realised there wasn’t even a proper wall sconce, and he made hasty use of the dying daylight to poke around in the cupboard for a candle. He found a few stubby ends and set them up on the table before lighting them. 

This would not do. Everywhere he looked in the room, he saw more that  _ had  _ to be bought. First candles, now, soap, then food, beer - and even when they had those, they didn’t have the plates to eat it off or mugs to drink from. They didn’t even have the chairs to sit on at the table. And they would be three to a pillow. Pillows that looked suspiciously like they were crawling with bugs. 

It could all wait a day or two for the others to arrive, when they’d maybe find supporters and friends where he himself would undoubtedly fail to do so. He rested his head down on the table for a moment, and dreamed of Erebor, of bright light and warm halls, of riches and the ease they brought, and quickly fell into a bittersweet sleep 

He woke to a rustling, and in an instant was on his feet, years of well-honed and tested instincts carrying him before his brain had even fully woken up. There was someone else in the room, of that he was certain, although he was equally certain he didn’t have a single weapon within reach except (arguably) the stools, although they weren’t likely to do much damage to anyone. He stood, still and alert, peering into the shadows being cast by the last guttering remnants of the candles and waited for an attacker to make their move. He was ready. 

‘You… live like this?’ A figure said, melting out of the darkness; a shabbily dressed dwarf with an expression of deep concern. ‘This is your home? It’s terrible.’ 

Dwalin just stood there, mouth open, unsure of what to say. 

The stranger looked at him sadly and shook his head. ‘Wait there.’ He said, before climbing out of the window. 

Somewhere in the back of Dwalin’s mind, he thought to point out that this was  _ his  _ rooms that he ought not to be ordered around in, that it was the middle of the night, and he was not likely to go anywhere. The other part of him wanted to chase down the stranger and try to arrest him. 

Arrest him for  _ what  _ exactly he hadn’t yet decided. 

So instead, he merely stood there, staring quizzically out of the window. He stood for what felt like several minutes, still frozen with perplexity and inaction, until out of the quiet he heard a strange scraping noise and some grunting. Finally, the stranger hoved back into view with a large sack in one arm, and two stacked chairs under the other. 

‘Well go on, give me a hand.’ The strange said curtly through the window and Dwalin found himself helping the chairs through the window, directed with stern warnings to take the sack and set it on the table  _ carefully _ . 

The stranger set about opening it and taking things out, putting small piles of mismatched crockery and cutlery on the counter, a water jug by the tub, two very thin but not obviously infested pillows and dumping them by the door to the other room, a small oil lamp, and so on. 

‘I can also get you a bedroll if you wait till tomorrow night.’ He said, turning with a grin and a look of extreme self-satisfaction, his smile only dimming slightly as he saw Dwalin’s face, and what Dwalin could only assume was its intense look of suspicion and irritation. 

‘Well you could say thank you, you know.’ He snapped. 

Dwalin looked around at the scene, eyes lighting upon this and that thing that they  _ did  _ most certainly need, and silently bowed. It was only now that he realised with no small amount of horror that everything was so mismatched because they were clearly all the result of one or another pilfering. 

Which was, of course, why he’d even been in Dwalin’s rooms in the first place. He looked back up sharply to give him a piece of his mind, but as he’d worked through all this, the strange benefactor had either noticed his growing anger or had some sense of self preservation, as Dwalin found himself staring at an empty room. 

This was certainly very odd, but, confused as he was, he was still  _ very  _ tired. Whatever was going on could wait until the morning. He settled himself on one of the beds, wrapped in a mothy old blanket from the sack and instantly fell back to sleep. 

He was woken up some time later by a curt rapping at the door and some angry muttering on the other side of it. He looked out of the small slit of a window in the bedroom; it was still very dark outside and the air had a cool dampness indicating it was still well before dawn. 

‘What now.’ He whispered wearily to himself as he got out of bed and went to answer it. He found himself face to face not with the stranger of a few hours earlier, but a different one; younger, slighter, and  _ very  _ angry.

He stopped chattering angrily as soon as Dwalin opened the door, and froze, his face transforming instantly into a weak smile, although his eyes still darted everywhere but Dwalin’s own. 

‘What?’ Dwalin said gruffly, after several seconds of this. 

‘I ah… I thought you might… want this hand cart.’ The stranger said, tripping slightly to one side and revealing the thing behind him. Without waiting for an answer - not that Dwalin had one - he walked off very fast, leaving the cart behind him. 

Dwalin stared after him silently until he was out of view, stared at the cart, and saw no recourse other than to shrug helplessly at the empty street and bring the cart inside; no point letting it clutter up the road. 

He hauled it in and shut the door firmly, leaning against it, grabbing at the cold, metal handle just to confirm that he was not stuck in a strange dream. 

Either everyone in the town was a complete lunatic, or he had some strange spirits watching over him. 

Rather more uneasily, he crawled back into bed and listened out for more footsteps, but fell asleep before any came. 

When he woke up again, pre-dawn light was beginning to brighten the room, although it was not what had woken him. Instead, it was the muttering and clattering about from the main room. He flung himself out of bed and next door, to find yet another dwarf, this one neat and prim, with terrifyingly good posture and humble clothes that contrasted with his elaborate, tightly braided white hair. 

‘Well now, you should be grateful I didn’t fetch the watchman in the night.’ The stranger said curtly. 

Dwalin gaped at him. 

‘That’s  _ my  _ cart after all! And this is my jug, oh, and those are my knives.’ He continued. This somehow broke the spell. 

‘I didn’t bring it here! Or any of that! All I’ve done is sit here in my own room which I’ve legally rented.’

‘Oh, I know that. It was my younger brother Nori who brought this all over. He’s very open-handed.’ He said with a sigh. 

‘And sticky-fingered.’ Dwalin added; the stranger had no reply to that, but Dwalin now noticed that he wasn’t taking back  _ all _ of the items. 

And well, my youngest brother Ori and I, we were furious with him. So I sent Ori over here with the cart to get it back.’ 

‘I didn’t steal the bloody thing from him!’ 

The stranger wrinkled his nose in distaste. ‘I know. But Ori has always been very…’ He paused, his eyes roving over Dwalin strangely, ‘softhearted.’ 

So, lunatics not spirits after all. 

‘And as usual, it has fallen to me to fix things for them.’ Dori said through gritted teeth, having now efficiently assembled and packed half the stuff back into the cart. He paused for a moment. ‘You can keep my pillows.’ 

Thank you.’ Dwalin said with seriousness; he could appreciate the gesture small as it was. 

‘You look like you haven’t washed in a week. You can bring them back to me when you’ve boiled-washed them.’ 

Dwalin didn’t answer, and instead watched with grim satisfaction as the dwarf heaved the laden handcart with difficulty back outside by himself. He shut the door in his face and barred it with a stool, and shuttered the windows, before settling back into bed and willing himself back into a sleep that didn’t come. When the sun was truly up he forced himself back out of bed, as frustrated as he was tired. 

It would be another couple of days before the others arrived, and there was much to do before then. This was one of the largest towns in the area, with many wealthy dwarves who had either themselves fled from Erebor, or were connected to, or descended from, ones who had. Here, there was a chance. Dwalin had gone on ahead to start making plans while the others finished up business across the valley in Shipton-on-the-Water. He had contacts to find, supplies to enquire about; if there was anywhere in this godforsaken part of the world where the merchants were reasonable and hard tack looked edible, he was determined to find it. But more than supplies, he was in search of fighters, questers, anything he could find. A proper adventurer was probably a little outside of what they could hope for, a ranger even more so, but there had to be someone around here looking for some fun. 

There was one sort of place that was always a good bet for leads on fighters of some sort: an inn. Not that he (or any of their small group) had ever managed to convert interest to a signed contract - once the cold light of morning, and a hangover, hit their prospective adventurers, the doubts instantly crept in. But it was a good place to look for two reasons. Firstly, adventurers were almost always to found in inns, taverns, and places of that sort. Secondly, the only people you could find drinking in earnest at a pub at this time of morning were also the only people likely to be desperate enough to come with them. He tried a couple of dwarves slumped in seats at the bar, but one was completely disinterested, while the other had an ill-favoured look about him and Dwalin excused himself very soon. There was one halfling merchant, the only person in the room availing themselves of the inn’s kitchens rather than its taps, who merely shovelled the last of his sausages into his mouth all at once and left the place, scurrying out like a little mouse, at the mere suggestion of a quest. Finally there was a young man, with a sad but beautiful face too like that of an elf, who mumbled something about having a duty to fulfil that would not let him stray that far from the borders of the Shire. 

A bust, as he’d expected. No matter. The town was awake by now, and with that, the market itself was full of sounds. Anyone milling around looking for work would be there, and one of them might just be talked into joining them. He went into the main square and started looking around for any such idlers. 

Instead he saw two of the preposterous brothers from the night before, eldest and youngest, tending a stall. 

He’d half begun to think the whole thing was a dream until he laid eyes on them again - them and some of the goods he’d been given, and robbed of, in the same night, strewn across a threadbare cloth that might once have been dark yellow but was now nearly the colour of mud. The younger spotted him before the elder, and seemed to physically shrink. 

‘Good morning.’ The oldest said crisply, as Dwalin approached and began to idly pick up and rifle through some of the things from their strange adventure the night before. 

Good morning.’ Dwalin replied. 

The youngest, Ori, he seemed to recall, merely stared at him. 

‘Got a lot of things for sale today.’ Dwalin said.

‘All good quality.’ 

‘All second-hand. All previously used.’ He said rather pointedly, letting his hand rest on a mug that Dori had seized the night before from the kitchen table. 

The eldest looked at him sharply. ‘Yes, and by all sorts besides. But everything is cleaned thoroughly.’ 

‘Dori.’ The youngest said sharply; a momentary flash of a backbone. 

‘No it’s alright. You’ve got to be careful when you don’t know who these things came from. Or  _ how _ .’ Dwalin went on with an unpleasant smile.

The eldest walked off in a huff, no doubt to find their thief of a brother and bend his ear for half an hour. 

‘Sorry about that.’ The youngest said, rearranging the already perfectly neat bric a brac on the table. His hands paused over some fabric and a jug. 

‘Here.’ He said, pushing at the knitted blanket with delicate hands clad in home-made, patched fingerless gloves them slightly and revealing them to be a knitted blanket. Soft craft for soft folk, Dwalin thought to himself as he looked at them all. 

‘For how many hours may I keep them this time?’ 

Ori reddened. 

‘Really, we don’t normally… I’m not sure what came over all of us last night. Please, have them as a present.’ Dwalin wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. With a nod of acceptance he began to load them into his bag. ‘Although, I made this blanket, and got this jug myself. By paying for it. So really, its  _ mine  _ and he’s no right to complain.’ Ori went on, chin jutting out for a moment like a petulant child, until he seemed to remember himself. 

‘Although, you should hurry up. Not sure when Dori’s coming back.’ He went on, eyes darting this way and that. Dwalin allowed himself a disappointed shake of his head at the lad’s cowardice as he finished packing and left without another word, returning to his rented room and locking the bag firmly inside a cupboard before heading out again. 

The rest of the day was a total bust, with no one even remotely interested in their mission. The next day he’d try the town council, much as the others were doing even now. He could only pray they were having more luck than him. He settled into the inn that night, tucked into a corner and looking as uninviting as he could, where he smoked and drank away in silence until his mood had slightly improved, and he fell into bed hoping for a less interrupted night than the previous. 

He woke up to find that the shutters to the main room had been opened quite expertly from the outside and the window too, although nothing was gone. Instead, there was some rather rough looking bread on the table. 

He ate it with deep suspicion, but he ate it nonetheless, before heading out once again. His feet took him straight to the market, where the same stall was out again, this time staffed by the middle brother alone. 

‘Can’t imagine you sell much.’ Dwalin said drily. 

‘No, but we always make a profit when I’m on duty.’ He replied with a wink, handing Dwalin’s own purse back to him. Dwalin snatched it angrily. 

‘I was going to thank you, but I’m not sure I will now.’ 

‘Thank me for what exactly?’ 

‘For the bread.’ 

Nori’s face went blank for a moment until he burst out laughing. ‘I’m not the one in the family who bakes.’

‘Well, tell him my thanks then.’ Dwalin replied, feeling his ears go pink with embarrassment.

‘You can tell him yourself.’ Nori called after him, but he kept walking. He did, as he pointed out to himself, have business to attend to. He went to the council chamber and tried to make himself as presentable as possible to the councilman sitting in session, but his heart began to sank before he’d even said an entire sentence. The dwarf sitting in the chair before him was barely listening to him. He looked comfortable in every sense of the word, just like that landlord; he looked wealthy, secure, and a little bored. He looked like a person with much to lose, perfectly contented with where he was. He held up a pale hand for silence before Dwalin had even been speaking for half a minute. 

‘We sympathise with the plight of our kindred from Erebor. But you must understand, we are not prepared to enter into a wild goose chase halfway across Middle Earth, to reclaim another king his crown. We wish you well in your endeavours.’ 

‘But anything you could spare, anything at all-’

‘-nothing can be spared. We are a modest, simple folk round these parts. We live our little lives as best we can.’ The effect of his words somewhat lessened by the velvet cushion and gilded chair he was sitting on.

Dwalin began to tell himself over and over again not to say anything foolish. He called Balin’s most disapproving face to mind. He mastered himself. 

‘And besides, while we would consider a venture to place someone from Ered Luin on the throne, Durin’s line is unreliable. Too great a risk.’ The councilman continued, twisting a bangle around his wrist idly. 

Balin’s tempering face disappeared from Dwalin’s mind in a puff of smoke and rage. 

It took two sturdy dwarves to successfully eject him from the building, but luckily he’d done no more than shout insults and hit the wall, so he didn’t find himself thrown into the prison cell that served the entire town. Still, this was an irredeemable mess and even now, as he began to calm down against the cool cobblestones, he felt like a fool. Balin would have talked his way to a compromise, Fili and Kili might have served well to demonstrate their lack of madness. Thorin would probably merely have handed Dwalin a chair to throw across the room, though. 

None of it mattered now. He’d messed up, failed miserably. Perhaps Balin would be able to walk back his folly in a couple of days, but that seemed both unlikely and pointless; there was nothing to be gained here. 

He kicked at a loose stone with vicious pleasure, loosening it further and hoping that the counsellor would trip over. 

He was going to leave Longwater-by-the-Way empty-handed and alone. There was no point in hanging around. The moment the others arrived, they’d do as well to leave that very day or the next morning and go on to the next place, to make better use of their time. 

He went home to find a scarf draped over the door handle. He picked the thing up, still angry from the meeting, crushing it in his hand as he stomped back over to the marketplace, although his body was shivering treacherously from the unusually cold afternoon. Ori was on duty alone, jumping half a foot in the air when Dwalin threw the thing down on the table a little too forcefully. 

‘Not a fan of the colour?’ He asked sarcastically, despite his unease. 

‘I don’t need presents.’ He said gruffly.  _ I don’t deserve them _ he thought to himself. 

‘You looked cold, it was lying around. No bother.’ Ori replied stiffly, and Dwalin felt even worse than before. He stood quietly looking for the right thing to say. 

‘It’s soft.’ He said finally. 

‘I felted the wool slightly.’ 

‘I see.’ Dwalin said, staring at it. 

‘Can I ask you something?’ 

Dwalin nodded. 

‘What’s your name?’ 

Dwalin laughed, a loud, short bark, at this, and it broke the tension. ‘Dwalin. Son of Fundin.’ He said with an exaggerated bow. 

‘And what are you doing here? You’re clearly not a merchant or a thief.’ 

‘Too honest looking?’ 

‘Too poor.’ 

‘Your brother doesn’t look like he’s living the high life either.’ 

Ori paused at this. ‘Well we never said he was a  _ good  _ thief.’ 

‘I’m only passing through. I’m here making enquiries on behalf of my friends. We’re going on a quest and we need people to join us.’ 

Even as he said it, Dwalin realised what a mistake this was, as the other dwarf began hopping excitedly from foot to foot. 

‘Oh well, why don’t I come with you!’ 

‘I’m not sure you’re cut out for it.’ 

He looked crestfallen and a little mulish at that. ‘Why?’ 

Dwalin took his hand gently and raised the palm,brushing it lightly with a calloused finger to drive his point home. ‘Your hands are soft. Your brother said that your heart is soft too. Neither of those make for a good adventurer.’ 

Ori said nothing but looked a little like he was about to cry. Dwalin let go and walked off feeling hollow with his earlier disappointment and more than a little guilt towards Ori, stranger that he was. With a pang of regret he realised that he’d left the scarf behind. 

The next day brought a new gift, but one that instantly turned Dwalin’s stomach; a note slipped under the front door to head down to the inn that evening and find out why it was called the Hand Wrap. He hardly had to guess who this was from, and wondered if the lad was really challenging him to a fight. Lunatic as he was, along with his brothers, that seemed beyond unlikely, and so he put it out of his mind as he spent the day a little out of town, trying to negotiate a good price on a store of dried fruit that could keep them going for a few weeks on the road in a pinch, and inspecting some ponies that all turned out to be either dying of old age or hopelessly weak. At nightfall, he headed over to the inn at a leisurely pace, wondering what ridiculous display waited for him at the other end. 

The place was pretty crowded, in fact, it was absolutely packed, and he heard jeers and shouts long before he got there. Peering in through the window, it was clear to see why. 

‘That bloody fool.’ He muttered to himself, swiftly entering and trying to jostle his way to the centre of the room without causing another fight. 

He was trying to get to the centre of the town’s most popular Thursday night entertainment; a bare knuckle fight or, more specifically, the bets that were placed on it. One unconscious dwarf was currently being carried out of the makeshift arena by concerned-looking relatives, while another was gathering tips and applause as he limped round the edge. Standing just beyond them were the next two competitors. A hulking, surly redhead with a nose that appeared to have been broken at least four times, and Ori, whose fierce posture was slightly ruined by the fact that his fist was clenched inside a woolen mitten. 

‘He’s going to die.’ Dwalin muttered to himself, and a spectator in front of him turned round with a gleeful look, before turning back. ‘A gold piece says the little one buys it!’ He called out, and others began to try to place the same bet. Ori looked almost nervous until he caught sight of Dwalin in the crowd. He took off his woolen accessories with an air of ferocious finality. 

‘He really is going to die.’ Dwalin whispered to himself again. He tried to struggle over, to shout at Ori to stop this foolishness before it got out of hand, but before he could manage either thing effectively, they’d entered the arena and the bell had been rung, and all Dwalin could do was watch and try to push forward. 

Ori had only one possible advantage to Dwalin’s mind, and mercifully enough the lad had the nous to see the same thing; he was more nimble. He managed to dodge attack after attack as the redhead tired himself out, but it was only a matter of time before he got hit. He dodged too violently from one swipe and ended up tripping to the floor, and the other dwarf was on him in an instant, punching him hard in the face. 

He had no escape, no way of squirming out, or of overpowering his competitor. 

‘Yield?’ The other dwarf said; Ori merely shook his head and shrieked something obscene, sending a cheer through the crowd. 

‘He’s going to die,  _ and  _ he’s mad.’ Dwalin said, nearly to the front now. He felt something press hard past him and watched with fascination as Dori managed to barrel past everyone with unexpected strength and tact, leaping over the barriers and punching the redhead so hard he fell over backwards. 

Dori picked up the broom and whacked him in the face with it without mercy; he began to rise and Dori swept his legs out from underneath him. The effect, the contrast of his strength with his prim appearance, were undeniably comical, and everyone began to laugh too hard to think too closely about the rules of the contest. 

But Dwalin, while entertained, was taking a professional curiosity in the farce before him. Dori had some skill with the broom; Ori, now he’d regained himself, was working effectively with his brother, they flanked the opponent, and Ori managed some sneaky jabs round his brother’s side or over his head that, while not very strong, landed more often than not. 

Maybe with a bit of practice...

He shook the foolish thought from his head. 

The redhead put up a valiant fight before finally passing out to a final blow from the broom, to wild whoops of laughter, until the innkeeper stepped in. 

‘The fight is forfeit. All bets stay with the house.’ 

Dwalin could literally feel the mood of the room shift in the quiet second or two it took everyone to process this. 

At the end of that second or two there was a small clink. With sinking certainty, Dwalin, and everyone else, turned around to face the noise. Nori was standing at the back by the table holding the bets; one hand sweeping up coins into his sleeve, the other grasping at another handful, out of which a coin had just escaped. 

‘So close this time.’ he said with a regretful last look at the pile, before chucking both handfuls at the crowd, starting a chaotic scrabble and turning to flee the scene. Dwalin took advantage of the pandemonium to finally reach the two brothers still standing awkwardly in the ring. 

‘Well, you’ve done it now, you two.’ Dori snapped, even as he swabbed blood from his brother’s eyebrow gently. ‘We’ll be run out of town again.’ 

Ori pushed his brother’s hand away and looked at Dwalin defiantly, wiping the blood from his split lip, and in that instant Dwalin’s mind was finally made up.

‘You won’t be run out if you choose to leave.’ Dwalin said slowly, and Ori’s face broke out into a bloody grin. 

‘What do you mean?’ Dori asked, looking between the two of them with growing apprehension. 

‘Sneak out the back and head to my lodgings. I know you can let yourselves in.’ He said, re-entering the crowd and causing a new fight to break out to increase their cover. 

By the time he made it out of the fight, Ori and Dori were at his rooms, as was their brother, looking as innocent as new snow. They lay low until the middle of the night, stealing out of the town via the brothers’ own rented rooms to pick up the bare essentials, plus a few bits and pieces that would be useful on their long journey. They were half way to the others in Shipton by the time dawn broke, but, just as Dori was beginning to fuss about being barred from that town as well, some familiar and welcome figures hoved into view out of the morning mist. Dwalin rushed over and clapped Fili and Kili on the back, pulling them into a hug that gave him a view of the small party behind them. He noticed now that the party was considerably larger than when they’d left, as three strange dwarves were with them, all quite shabby, one as round as a ball with the strangest beard he'd ever seen, and another who appeared, if Dwalin wasn’t mistaken, to have an axe sticking out of his head. 

The boys let go of him and went over to inspect his new companions, at whom Thorin was also staring quizzically. 

‘We had the strangest time in Shipton. We gained nothing but these three. You won’t believe the way we met them.’ He said. 

‘I promise you, my story is stranger.’ Dwalin said, and his friend laughed. 

‘Plenty of time to swap them on the road.’ Thorin replied. 

‘So it’s time?’

Thorin’s face became drawn. ‘I am going to Ered Luin one last time, alone. But with or without their support, we must leave  _ now _ with whoever we have managed to find.’ He looked over the three brothers Dwalin had found with an appraising, disappointed eye. ‘No matter who they are.’ 

‘They’re handy enough in a fight. And one of them’s a thief, didn’t the wizard say we need one?’ 

‘A thief?’ Thorin said, brushing his pockets in alarm. 

‘A thief  _ and  _ a gift-giver. Besides, they’ve got promise.’ 

Dori was certainly strong enough. Nori was wily enough. And Ori was intriguing. A mouse with a lion’s heart. Timid yet ferocious. Plenty of time to consider that on the road, though. 

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this tweet https://twitter.com/ericsshadow/status/687877277045145600?lang=en


End file.
